


Christmas Time

by Iamala



Series: Sabbatical Shorts 'Verse [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Crack, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Other, Pre-Slash, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 16:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iamala/pseuds/Iamala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas time and Dean's room is occupied leaving him with the choice of share with Cas or sleep on the sofa. His mind decides one but his body doesn't seem to agree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Time

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas everyone. This is a little bit of a fill before we get onto some more plotty developments.

“Why me?!” Dean cries as Sam sits at the kitchen table counting out stupid fake icicle decorations which Cas was hanging up in practically every room of the house.

Sam gave him a low level bitch face.

“Because, Jess and I already share, and we’re not making Bobby sleep on the couch. Plus, Cas’ room is full of important angel stuff and yours has practically nothing in it.”

“So I have to sleep on the couch in my own house?” Sam sighed and separated another pile of ten for Cas to collect on his way past.

“No, you _could_ share with Cas, his bed’s big enough.”

Dean did a strange stuttering thing with his tongue as his face heated up. “Dude! _I’m. Not. Gay.”_ Sam looked at him like he was a dog who’d just soiled their favourite rug.

“I know we didn’t exactly have a normal upbringing dude, but I thought you at least knew the difference between _sharing_ a bed with someone and having kinky gay angel sex.” Dean gaped.

“Wait, you think Cas is kinky?” Sam smirked.

“Dude wears women’s underwear. Something tells me he’s a few shades from vanilla.” Dean’s face went pensive and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Whatever Dean. You can share with Cas or sleep on the sofa, either way, Bobby’s in your room. Now scoot.” Dean stumbled as Sam pushed him out the way so he could begin hanging the icicles above the kitchen door way.

“Why is my house so friggin’ gay?” Dean muttered, and went to hide his porn.

* * *

 

In theory, it worked great. Bobby arrived on the Wednesday before Christmas to mutter grouchily about the excess of tinsel on everything and retire to his (Dean’s!) bedroom with a fifth of whisky. Jess and Cas began preparing for their epic family feast and Sam hung mistletoe over the door with a dopy grin.

As soon as everyone disappeared up to bed, Dean pulled out the sheets and blankets and made the couch as comfy as humanly possible before stretching out and almost falling off again because it was too short. It took several tries to work out a position that fitted, but eventually he drifted off into a slightly uncomfortable sleep.

Of course the next morning it all went to hell.

Dean stirred to the sight of curious blue eyes and feel of soft satin sheets. He blinked. “Cas?”

Castiel continued to stare at him from very close distance, it was… unsettling.

“Good morning Dean.” He shifted slightly and it was then Dean realised he had his hand on something. Something hard and warm. _Oh God please no._

He was relieved when he looked down to realise it was only Cas’ stomach but freaked out enough to try scooting away and almost strangled himself in bed sheets. “Aragh-mmph.”

Castiel cocked his head as Dean tried to untangle his left arm that seemed to be trapped somewhere by his ankle. “You are much clumsier in the morning than I remember Dean.” Dean tried to raise his other hand to hide his face in but it merely flapped uselessly where it was tied to his stomach.

“Cas, little help maybe?” Castiel seemed to wake up from some sort of reverie and leant over to gallantly begin tugging at Dean’s fabric prison. When he reached over Dean’s shoulder Dean had to close his eyes because Cas’ t-shirt rucked up and he was wearing the lace panties. The see-through lace panties. God help him he was gonna go blind.

“Cas!” His voice came muffled against Cas’ navel. Castiel jerked back and looked down curiously.

“Oh. I liked that feeling. What was it?” Dean blushed bright red and muttered something about Cas being ticklish or something and _could he please untangle him already_. It took Cas several more minutes of tugging before Dean was free, but thankfully, no more inappropriate touching.

Dean ran his fingers through his hair and looked at Cas who was sat amongst the sheets, eyes sleepy and hair messy with a red mark where he’d rested his cheek on his arm. “Cas, why am I in your bed?” Castiel frowned at him.

“I assumed you changed your mind. I woke up and you were snoring with your hand on my stomach. It was… warm.” Dean cursed internally.

“I do not snore.” Castiel merely raised an eyebrow. “Well _I_ don’t remember coming in here. And why would I come here instead of my room?” Although Dean was secretly glad he’d chosen Cas over Bobby. The thought of waking up in bed with Bobby make him shiver disturbedly.

Castiel stretched his arms above his head and rubbed at the sleep in his eyes. “Your subconscious probably chose the place that was safest for you to retreat to when it could not settle.” Dean stared at him. Cas shrugged. “Sam leant me his psychology textbooks, I have found them very illuminating.”

Oh yay, Dean thought, he was sharing a bed with a psychoanalytical angel. Nothing says Christmas like a Heavenly psych consult.

“Whatever. I’m going to get coffee and shower.” He got out the bed and glared at Castiel. “This was a onetime thing, okay? Me and my subconscious are perfectly happy with the sofa, I probably just drank too much of that stupid eggnog to remember last night is all.” Castiel just grunted and held out his empty coffee mug to Dean. Dean sighed and took it. The subject was forgotten for the rest of the day.

* * *

 

The next morning Dean woke slowly, warm and comfortable, with something pressed against his arm.

“Hmmgh.” He murmured as he tried to persuade his eyes to open.

_Crap._

He was lying somewhere that certainly was not the sofa with an angel shaped thing that certainly was not a sofa cushion under his arm.

_Again?!_

His subconscious sucked.

He peered closer at the angel but there were no sleepy blue eyes to meet his gaze. Castiel was curled tightly on his side, one hand resting under his cheek, hair everywhere where it was growing just an inch too long and his other hand on top of Dean’s. On his stomach. _Again._

“Aw crap.” He muttered softly.

When Cas was asleep, he looked frighteningly vulnerable and human. He still hadn’t quite got the idea of relaxing properly and always tried to fall asleep lain flat on his back staring at the ceiling. Cas moved slightly and Dean found himself instinctually rubbing his thumb over the soft but firm belly under his hand. It was something he used to do for Sam when they were children and he had a tummy ache.

He shook himself and carefully pulled his hand out from under Cas’, creeping out of the bed quietly. It was a skill honed and practiced by his many one night stands, he was a little proud of it to be honest. Deciding it wasn’t too early for a dose of caffeine, he made his way to the kitchen thinking desperately of a way to stop his unconscious body migrating into Cas’ bed that night.

He only remembered it was Christmas Eve when Gabriel turned up a breakfast declaring Sam the shepherd of his heart and drowning him in candies. The distant wailing of a siren gave him an idea.

* * *

 

“Shh, shh you’ll wake him.”

“Come on Sammy, you’ve gotta let me put on the Santa hat?”

“Here, give me the eyeliner, your technique is horrible, this needs a woman’s touch.”

Dean felt himself slowly rouse into consciousness with a strange wet sensation on his face.

“Quick, he’s waking up, hide the key.”

“Sam?” Dean croaked, wondering why his brother was in his bedroom, and why he could hear giggling. “Sammy? Whut’s goin’ on?” He moved his hand to rub at his face and felt it catch on something.

A metal something.

“Sam!” Dean sat up suddenly only to be pulled back down by the set of silver hand cuffs chaining his wrists above his head. “Sam,” he gritted out, voice dangerous, “why am I handcuffed to the sofa like the opening to some cheap porno?”

Sam spluttered as he tried to hide his laughter behind a fist. He, Jessica and Gabriel were sat on the floor next to the tree staring at him with faux innocence.

“Gabriel!”

“Don’t look at me Deano, you’re the one who tied your hand to the sofa arm, which, for an attempt at self bondage was pretty poor actually. I felt sorry for you, Jess and Sammy just helped... rearrange you.” Jessica wasn’t even bothering to hide her grin by now.

“Young Jessica here is quite the artist,” Dean felt a sense of dread as he felt something damp smudge across his cheek as he tried to turn his head to glare more effectively. “If she hadn’t stolen my man from me I think we’d be good friends.” Jessica smiled warmly at him.

“Keep up the flattery and we might be able to arrange some sort of joint custody deal angel. You get him every other Thursday and return him sans bite marks and I’ll give you him Monday mornings for free, he’s always grouchy on Mondays.” She turned to grin at her boyfriend. Sam just pouted at her and Gabriel winked.

“I think you’re my favourite zombie Miss Moore, but I’m sure we can negotiate the no biting thing, he does look so...” Gabriel traced his eyes of a blushing Sam’s body, “mouth watering.”

“Enough! Okay- stop! I swear I’m gonna need therapy for decades, just give me the key and let me out.”

Gabriel tutted. “Sorry Deano, key’s in Mexico, I must have accidentally sent it there whilst you were snoring. Guess you’re spending Christmas morning a little tied up.”

Dean rattled angrily at the handcuffs cursing blue murder when Cas shuffled sleepily into the living room and frowned.

“Is this another human tradition? Should we all draw male genitalia on our faces, is it considered festive?”

It took ten whole minutes for the laughter to die down.

Merry freakin’ Christmas, Dean thought. 


End file.
